


Consequences

by ClownfuckinAround



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Blood and Gore, Emotional Manipulation, F/M, Oneshot, Pennywise (IT) Being an Asshole, Pennywise (IT) is His Own Warning, Possessive Pennywise (IT), Romance, Self-Indulgent, Yandere Pennywise, but hey i thought id take a swing at it, hooooooo boy this one gets a little dark, im sure im far from the first person to do anything like this, this ended up being longer than i wanted oh well
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-28
Updated: 2020-02-28
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:48:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22936606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClownfuckinAround/pseuds/ClownfuckinAround
Summary: 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘪𝘮𝘮𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘪𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘴𝘰 𝘰𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘤𝘤𝘢𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘢𝘭 𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘯 𝘣𝘰𝘣𝘣𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘮𝘪𝘥𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘳𝘰𝘸𝘥, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘣𝘷𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘶𝘯𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦 𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘥 𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘶𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳. 𝘠𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘮𝘢𝘤𝘩 𝘵𝘸𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘴 𝘢𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘧𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘴; 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘩𝘰𝘱𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘤𝘳𝘶𝘦𝘭 𝘨𝘰𝘥 𝘴𝘱𝘰𝘬𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘦𝘹𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘰 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘷𝘰𝘬𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘸𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘩, 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘴 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘦𝘭𝘴𝘦 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘥𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘢 𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘤𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘬𝘦.Something at work gets under your skin, and Pennywise doesn't take too kindly to it.
Relationships: Pennywise (IT) & Original Female Character(s), Pennywise (IT)/Reader
Comments: 9
Kudos: 117





	Consequences

It had been terrible last week. You had come into work same as always, apron on, hair pulled back, hands at the ready in cheap plastic gloves, to do as you always did on those busy weekend mornings- serve food to demandingly thankless festival patrons. It had seemed a relatively innocuous and easy gig when you applied; after all, if all you had to do was throw food in a boat and shove it out a slipshod wooden window to greasy, greedy hands on the other side of a wall, it would be the easiest $12 an hour you had ever made. It got tiring being on your feet for ten consecutive hours on festival days, and lunch rushes were routinely hell incarnate, but all things considered it was fairly easy money and you couldn't rightly complain about your particular station. Until last week, that is.

It had started when you came in that second weekend morning, ready to prep your area for work only to be greeted by your managers, who had prepared a stern word for you and the rest of your fellow kitchen colleagues about a laundry list of complaints made by a nameless informant to the higher ups the day before. They were about as sympathetic as anyone else in the room, as they were only beholden to admonishing you out of obligation to their supervisors and had, in fact, been admonished themselves in the process. You had been solemn during this impromptu meeting, silently scared out of your wits that you would be singled out or, worse, fired somehow for your apparent transgressions. The thought of it was simply mortifying, but you kept a stoic face, knowing better than to betray any sort of weakness in that room in front of all your peers.

Pennywise had been furious when he found out. He had come to you, fully intent on whisking you away on filthy, lascivious errand but had encountered you red-faced and weeping in your bedroom instead. Turns out, it didn't stop with micromanaging the entire kitchen. It had boiled over into singling out everyone for one petty reason or another, and this time you'd gotten your hand smacked for checking the time on your phone. You'd been talked down to and they threatened to take it away like you were some kind of irreverent, unruly middle schooler; it had been a long time since you'd been so completely and utterly humiliated. You were a grown adult and you didn't appreciate being patronized in the least; not that you could ever muster the nerve to speak up on your own behalf however. You just silently stewed in your dismay over the course of your shift and endured the drive home, wherein you weakly kicked in the front door, peeled off your uniform and crawled into bed to sob. Things had been so difficult for you lately; it took everything you had to drag yourself out of bed every morning, so when things like this happened you tended to cope with them with a little less grace than you liked to admit.

He hadn't been pleased. Despite his vicious composure and predilection towards cruelty, Pennywise had admittedly garnered something of a soft spot for you. While he would routinely shove you down onto the floor and take what he wanted whenever he sought you out, he was also just as likely to lavish you with passionately decadent pleasure just for the sake of currying your favor. Pennywise knew how valuable your loyalty was; it offered him something precious, a kind of invincibility against mortal harm that he would be a fool to deny. So, he was content to restrain himself with you at times, knowing full well just how many sweet, sweet spoils it would yield for him in the end. 

That’s why, when you had been so clearly threatened in the absence of his presence, he had become absolutely livid. He didn’t like the taste of you like this, small and curled up in dejected misery, not even softening to his touch when he attempted to console you in your grief. It took everything he had not to take his anger out on you, for he knew it would only make the situation that much worse, and he knew you didn’t deserve it. He simply had to be careful with you, but he knew this transgression must not go unpunished. No, there would be consequences, no doubt about that. It was just a matter of who had to pay them, and when.

Though you hadn’t known it, Pennywise had accompanied you to work that following weekend. He would keep a close eye on you, if for no other reason than he was concerned for your wellbeing, but there was a second, more pressing motive he had that had taken the most precedence in this moment. He would find the people responsible for your despondence. He would find them, he would take them, and he would deal with them accordingly. He watched you as you prepared your work area in the morning, he watched as you would casually shoot the breeze with your coworkers; would watch as you nervously glanced at your phone while making feverish glances to the doorway of your kitchen out of the corner of your eye, shoving it into your back pocket when you caught a glimpse of anyone coming through the threshold, regardless of who they were. He watched as you passed the time however you could, simply counting the minutes until cannon went off, signifying the official commencement of the festival to the public eye. His eyes would trail appreciatively over your form as you bent to look out the window to your station, anticipating the first food order of the day with a vague sense of dread and yet, impatience as well.

Things had started out fairly slow in the beginning, but as the day continued and minutes passed into hours on the clock, the pace had slowly started to pick up. Supplies would run low, only to be swiftly replaced with more; your coworkers were now scrambling all over the kitchen to fill orders as customers lined up outside your kiosk. Some items on the menu were more popular than others, and that would prove to be a nuisance on occasion, as the high demand led to inevitable shortages and you were forced to relay these unfortunate developments to the cashiers out front, who then were burdened with the unpleasant task of breaking the news to the patrons. To their credit, most customers were understanding, but some were less so, offering their unwelcome criticisms of your establishment as if you could magically offer an immediate solution to their laser-guided ire. Luckily, however, you were mostly safe from them, as you worked behind the scenes and were thus impervious, the brunt of this falling on the poor cash handlers instead. Though you felt pity for their plight you simply didn’t have the time or energy to waste much of either thinking on the matter; you simply trudged ahead, fulfilling your own role in the machine as you were bid to do so.

The day seemed to be passing without issue so far; the hours were passing quickly as a result of the worsening lunch rush, and now the only thing that existed in the present was filling orders one after the other. Pennywise existed in the ether between realms at this time, simply looking over you as you briskly paced all over the kitchen. He found himself at times getting hung up on how cute you were, getting worked up when the demand of the customers was increasingly becoming more than you could bear. He would delight in the way you would exclaim obscenities, allowing himself to giggle in amusement when you would bump into coworkers or drop things on the floor, would burn your fingers on hot food or scuff grime from fallen fries off the bottom of your shoe. He found it so endearing to witness you in your natural element, being your own authentic and uncensored self around him though you were simply unaware of it in the moment. He would regard you with slight concern when your flamboyantly frustrated antics slowly festered into silent resentment with time, slamming down steam tray lids and curtly taking food orders as your pace became increasingly more strained and robotic under the frenetic heat of the blitz. How you longed to simply rest your feet; you hadn’t taken a single break yet, and you were almost halfway through your shift. You would find yourself in better humor after some much-deserved respite from the chaos, but for now the exhaustion was beginning to visibly coalesce in your temperament.

And when your lunch break finally came, you clocked out and sat yourself down for half an hour of seated bliss at long last, groaning in relief as the pressure from standing so long was finally alleviated. The sky smiled down at you in contented blue, and you found yourself reminded of his eyes. So cheerful, so comforting in their own way, before they inevitably turned to hostile, vicious yellow just as the sun, which came out from behind the pleasant shade of a cloud to stare you down in all its formidable, burning luster. You averted your eyes. As gorgeous as you found that stare, you found it hard to match, and you found that meeting it with your eyes was a rather foolish move, a surefire way to make yourself disoriented and dizzy and susceptible to passing out. He used that to his advantage sometimes; he would take you in the strength of his arms, pet your hair, whisper lovely little things to secure your trust, delighting in the way you would meet his cerulean gaze with spellbound eyes and then he would flash those terrible, wicked deadlights, hefting your limp body down into the cistern for dreadful games to play. You would awake to those eyes boring down into you and fear would strike your timid soul; he would grin and it would begin.

You shiver at the thought. The sun, while bright and certainly daunting, seemed relatively innocuous at least, and the warmth was certainly welcome as the breeze from the last, lingering hints of winter still hadn’t fully dissipated yet. But you find, as you continue to avoid the piercing glower of errant sunbeams, it seems to be following your line of sight regardless of how low to the ground it falls. You blink your eyes and glance up again in confusion, and there he is in all his glory, suddenly towering over you with hands clasped behind his back. You jump and he giggles.

“P-Pennywise, what are you--”

“Shh, shhhhh… Not to worry, pet, no one else can see me. The burden is on you, my dear, whether or not the others catch on to my presence, so act natural, hmm?”

He takes a seat next to you and swings playful boots back and forth, heels scuffing against the dirt as he favors you with an impish smile. The occasional passerby continues on unperturbed, not noticing the peculiar cloud of dust that’s formulating next to your nervous form. You’re silent.

“Good girl. I’ve been watching, you know. All morning.”

Your face burns with embarrassment. “You mean… Y-you--”

“That’s right, my little sailor-mouthed darling. How fiery you were in there! Oh, ol’ Pennywise loved it, _loved_ seeing his little pet so worked up, so ripe with righteous fury. So adorable, so cute!”

Your heart flutters at the praise, however demeaning and patronizing it was. You couldn’t help it.

“Why are you here? I m-mean… Why were you watching me? I don’t have a lot of time to be goofing off, Pen.”

He takes your hand in his on the bench, gloved fingers stroking soothingly over your thumb. 

"Pennywise was worried, you know. After last weekend. He could see how disheartened, how inconsolable his little pet was, and not even his touch could soothe her sorrow… So that’s why--”

“Pen, you’re not gonna… You’re not gonna _do_ anything, are you?”

His grip on your hand tightens painfully and you wince. His eyes flash a mean, vulturous orange and in that moment your heart starts thundering in your chest.

“P-Pen--”

His voice is soft and sweet but you can taste the poison. “...Pennywise will watch. He’ll make sure you are safe, and if anything threatens you… If anything _dares_ to harm a single hair on your head, summons tears from your lovely hazel eyes, he will be there, and he will take care of it.”

He flexes his grip on your hand and then it softens into a firm squeeze. You’re breathless, your fear has stolen your words away.

_“...He will take care of it.”_

He gets up and moves behind you, his hands falling on your shoulders as he leans close to whisper in your ear.

“...Enjoy the rest of your break, sweetness.”

He plants a wet kiss on your cheek and you gasp. 

“Hey, are you okay?” 

A coworker lights a cigarette and sits on the adjacent bench. They regard you with vague bewilderment as they take a puff and perfume the air with pungent smoke.

“Y-yeah.” You shiver, rubbing your arms. “Just… Cold.”

The residual drool on your cheek is icy just like the blood in your veins. Now more than ever, you dreaded going back inside. 

When your break was over you clocked back in and stepped back into the kitchen, making your way past the sultry swelter of the ovens back to your assigned post, anxious gooseflesh peppering your skin now. You have to force yourself to quell the sickness brewing in your belly, as you knew you couldn't rightly justify your unease to your manager without telling an outrageous mess of lies as to why you felt such a way. You simply forced yourself to appear natural, slipping on another pair of plastic gloves and perching yourself at your window once more, trying to focus your attention on the scene before you of keen festival-goers traipsing happily to various booths and attractions laid out before them. The rush had eased considerably by the time you'd returned but it had by no means dispelled completely, as there were still plenty of eager and hungry patrons lining up outside your stall for refreshment. You tried to immerse yourself in your work but every so often you were rattled by the occasional red balloon bobbing amidst the crowd, the obvious and unmistakable calling card alluding to the presence of your monstrous lover. Your stomach twists as you fill orders; you hope to whatever cruel god spoke you into existence that nothing happen to provoke his wrath, knowing perhaps more than anyone else just how dangerous of a match that was to strike. You knew the extent of his mercy and just how prone he was to savagery and spite, and it truly shook you to your core to imagine what he could, what he might…

You shake your head and a shiver rolls down your spine. It was best just not to think about it. If you just worked hard, avoided drawing the attention of any meddling bossmen, you could finish your shift and go home without invoking any heartbreak and bloodshed. Pennywise would have no reason to get involved, he might just sate his hunger on some poor, unsuspecting nobody instead and your conscience would be clean of any direct involvement. It was sad, really, how impassive you'd grown to his atrocities with time, thinking of his victims only as unfortunate fresh carcasses to a circling bird of prey, vulnerable and ripe for the taking. You had come to justify it as the natural order of things; the food chain, as it were, and clearly humans were not at the top in Derry. He needed to eat somehow, and you were hardly in any kind of position to even think of questioning or denying his very livelihood, so you were silent. At this point, you were far past guilt.

When the latter half of the day finally approached, business began to steadily slow to a crawl. The throngs of people had all gotten food by this point and now focused solely on their merrymaking, so those of you in the kitchen were in time left to your own devices. The minutes began to pass at a rate you surely wouldn’t call expedient; the food in the steamtrays began to get cold. The breeze outside began to catch up with the time of day, getting the slightest bit frigid and icy as the sun began its downward descent over the horizon. Light began to leave the well-trodden dirt path circling the festival grounds and the crowds had started to disperse; only those who cared to stay behind at the cluster of picnic tables remained to banter casually with each other. There was the occasional order that would come through at this late hour, and you pitied the poor customer that would be saddled with stale chicken fingers and cold, slimy fries in desperate need of re-dropping. You would get their order as quickly as possible, send them on their way, and then you would resume your leisurely posture at the window, elbows propped on the countertop as you gazed vacantly out over the fairgrounds.

Your co-workers began to get complacent, neglecting their posts in favor of goofing off due to the patent lack of business coming through. Some chatted amongst themselves, others took extra fifteens and smoke breaks; some even began to make makeshift stools out of scattered stray buckets, sneaking fried shrimp and pilfering mac and cheese into styrofoam cups from the metal pans lining your workspace. You continued to man your station, but admittedly the lack of occupation began to wear on your mind with time, and you started to wonder if succumbing to some of the shenanigans of your fellow employees would really be so bad, but you remember the talk your managers had had with everyone about those complaints and you force yourself to remain dutiful to your post. If anyone would get caught breaking the rules, it would undoubtedly be you, luck of the Irish and all.

It was bordering ever closer to closing time and there was nary a soul out on the path in front of you now, only the occasional passerby who was simply making their way towards the exit gates on their way out. Much to your own relief, you had begun to forget the looming presence of Pennywise over time, thinking that you may just make it to the end of the weekend without major incident. As much as you loathed the encroachment of the higher ups into the management of your kitchen, it would be a stretch by far to assume you meant them any kind of mortal harm. They were, at the end of the day, simply people doing a job, even if their job made them wildly inconsiderate to those below their station. You weren’t the confrontational type; you never had been, and it simply wasn’t worth it to raise issue with them. You just wanted to collect your paycheck and go home; rest your work-weary bones on your old gingham couch with a little well-deserved TV time and drag yourself off to bed afterwards to sleep it off.

The kitchen began to prep itself for closure now, it being only a mere half an hour until you would close your doors and wrap up for the evening. The cooks began to clean their areas, turning off the ovens and fryers and you start to relieve the steamtrays of leftover superfluous supply, taking wet rags to the countertops and counting leftover boats for inventory. When all that was done you had only fifteen minutes to spare before the long-anticipated day’s end, and you were so anxious you looked for any way to pass the time. Now finding it safe to do so, you warily take your phone out of your pocket and start to check the notifications that had collected on your home screen from hours of disregard. The odd customer shows up for a last minute order and you prepare it for them with food from other stations of the kitchen still active, and then it’s back to glancing at your phone, just waiting for cannon to go off once more and relieve you of your duties for the day. You start to tune out to your surroundings and you get absorbed in responding to a few unanswered texts when you hear a voice start to speak.

“Hey, you mind telling me what you’re doing there?”

They were clearly addressing you. Icy fear shoots through your veins and you glance upward. It was the head of the festival himself; well, the second down from the head, but arguably a man just as important. It was the same one who had gotten on your case from before, who’d talked down to you and threatened to take your phone away. You gulp, struggling to explain yourself, but the words refuse to leave your throat.

“Well, uh, I- I-” You stutter.

“Shouldn’t you be cleaning? We don’t pay you to stand around. Here- Give it to me.”

A fresh jolt of fear courses through you and you start to falter under his uncompromising demand. You couldn’t just… Say no. But you couldn’t just give it to him either; as the manager and the lead had both informed you before, he was literally unable to ask that of you. You were by no means obligated to comply, your brain frantically tells you that as you stand before him. You should be brave, you should...

“...N-no.” You try to say firmly, but it comes out more forced and feeble than anything.

“Excuse me?”

“You cuh-can’t. You’re not allowed t-.”

“No,” he interrupts, “ _You_ don’t talk back to me. Hand it over. Now.” He extends his hand expectantly.

“I said no.” All eyes are on you now. Your face is burning.

“I’m not playing games. If you don’t hand it over, you can hand in your timecard and your ID and go home because I _will_ fire you.” 

Something strange and powerful courses through you in that moment, almost as though you were possessed.

“Fire me then, see if I fucking care.” You voice stutters but you stand your ground. Your tone had taken on cold anger all of a sudden and you didn’t know where it had come from. 

There’s hushed muttering and gasps from the peanut gallery. He scowls, livid.

“...Get out. Now.” He says angrily.

You wring your hands, rooted to the spot in terror. You can’t bring yourself to move or speak now. Just what the hell had you done?

“Get. Out.” He repeats. “I won’t tell you again.”

Tears are in your eyes now, and your face is burning with mortification. Though you wished desperately for him not to intervene, you found yourself wondering just where Pennywise might be right about now. Your feet are like lead as you dolefully start to make your way over to the manager’s table. They hand you your timecard, silent but looking clearly apologetic, and you start to walk out. Any bravado you might have had is gone now as you make your way out, and just barely within earshot you can hear him addressing the rest of the kitchen amid hushed whispers from the rest of the staff. You can feel them looking at you from behind as you leave.

“Okay, I want to see the rest of this place cleaned up pronto. Don’t waste my time like she did. Move. Chop chop.”

You feel ashamed and you can feel the self-loathing start to course through you again. The walk to your car is impossibly unpleasant and humiliating, and the second you close your door you start to sob inconsolably. How stupid you’d been! You should have just handed it over. You should have just done what you were told, but you still managed to ruin everything just like you always ruined everything else. Now you were out of a job and there was nothing you could do to fix it. You turn the key in the ignition and make your way out of the unpaved parking lot, sheepishly avoiding the stare of the security guard as you left the festival behind you. The drive home is excruciatingly painful, and more than anything you just wanted to come home and drown your sorrows in whatever lay stocked within your pantry, cry your eyes out and wait for the exhaustion to inevitably overtake you. A persistent niggling feeling of dread lingers in the back of your mind but you can’t put a name or justification to it. It was simply there, haunting your consciousness like a looming spectre at the edge of your bed in the dead of night. You tried to ignore it as you make your way home.

You pull into your driveway with a quivering sigh, your breath heaving dejectedly in your chest as you turn the car off and shut the driver’s side door behind you. The dread persists even as you walk up the stony path to your front door, unlocking it and swinging it open to trudge inside. The entire house is silent as always but it feels like judgement. You set your bag down and drop your keys in the dish on the coffee table, tears still streaking down your face. You sniffle quietly in the darkness of the room, and that dread from before turns to an icy chill in your bones when you can finally hear it, that foreboding feeling in your gut manifesting there in the form of unsettling noise in the stillness. Bells jingle from behind you, sickening wet chewing sounds send a shiver down your spine. You whip around to face him and he looms over you, something, someone clutched in his hands from the shadows, dangling motionlessly from his iron grip. Fear starts to prickle at the nape of your neck.

“P-P...Penny?” Your voice is small.

He’s snarling with contempt. His yellow eyes glower brightly from the black of the room. Despite it all, his voice is soft. 

“Hello, my sweet. I brought you something.”

He drops the thing in his hands and it makes a harsh smacking sound against the hardwood. He kicks it into the light with a grunt and you bite back a shriek, backing away in your abject horror. It’s something bloody and mangled, its body limp and lifeless and utterly pallid. Blood pools on the floor and you can see it drenching the front of his suit. Its dripping from his jowls too, and as he steps forward to regard you you can see the unbridled scorn in his eyes. You’re whimpering hysterically as you inch away, hands clasped over your mouth as your brain tries to make sense of what you were seeing. You knew who it was. You knew the second you left that kitchen. You just didn’t want to believe it.

“It's what he deserved.” He says gently and evenly. “I saw the way he spoke to you, what he did. I saw it all.”

“Penny, I d-don’t… This isn’t what I… This isn’t what I w-wanted…” You start to sob from behind your hands.

He advances on you, slowly closing the gap between you. His hand reaches up to stroke your cheek fondly, and residual blood from his glove brushes against your face. You shudder. It’s still warm.

“I had to. It was the only way to repay what he had done. He hurt you, that disgusting wretch. He made you cry, and he needed to pay the consequences.”

You choke on a hard lump in your throat, frozen as he takes your face in his hands. You can’t summon the strength to break from his hold, but you keep your stare rooted to the floor.

“Look at me darling, look at me.”

He guides your face upward with his hands and your gaze lines up with his. His eyes are wide and sad and blue. He’s tender with his touches, and he speaks sorrow into your soul with a simple wistful stare. You cannot help but feel yourself soften at it, and you start to feel the beginnings of guilt welling up inside you, though you desperately tried to fight it. This was wrong, this was sick. This was…

“I did this for _you_ , sweet girl. I defended you, I _protected_ you. You were wronged, and I did everything in my power to fix what had been done.” He sounds betrayed, broken, wounded. You cannot help the way it tugs at your heartstrings, and his words ring powerfully in your mind.

**_I did this for you._ **

His thumb brushes away a tear and he pulls you into his hold when you start to weep openly and bitterly in the silence of the room.

“I know, my darling, I know. It’s over now, you will never have to deal with the likes of him again. Never. Pennywise took care of it.”

You couldn’t even begin to explain to him that that wasn’t the reason you were upset anymore, your words lost in the furious stampede of your racing thoughts now. All you can think of is the corpse on the floor, staring at you from behind him with dull and vacant eyes, and the undeniable culpability weighing on your mind. Pennywise is content to console you in his arms now, knowing how desperate you were for comfort in the wake of this no doubt traumatic turn of events, knowing how powerless you were to resist the pull of his influence. You can do little else but succumb to his embrace, sobbing miserably into his chest as he pets your hair and whispers lilting inanities to soothe you.

“Yes, my girl, I know… Shhh, _shhhhh…_ ”

You start to melt there, your hands reaching up to cling to him as you nestle your hot face in the cool silk of his suit. You note the blood staining his suit seemed to be nonexistent now, though you lacked the mental clarity to question how or why. Your sobbing slowly tapers into silence, and all the while he hums and sings to you, soothing your restless nerves with practiced ease. You find yourself increasingly placated by him, a kind of spell you were helpless to refuse, and with time you simply forget your horror as he sways you in his arms, almost dancing with you there amid the blood and gore strewn about the floor. His grip on you is gentle but firm, and you sniffle as he sweeps you carefully into his arms and carries you over to your bedroom. He deposits you onto the bed with gentle consideration and joins you there, where he cradles you from behind and leaves a trail of kisses from your cheek all the way down the nape of your neck. And all the while, he speaks to you, weary and tired and feebly fighting the tempting allure of slumber.

“Sleep, my sweet. Rest. You’re safe- Pennywise will watch over you. He will protect you.”

Your eyes are bloodshot from crying and you can feel them start to become heavy with exhaustion. You cannot resist it anymore and your eyes flutter closed, his voice a lullaby to your battered conscience.

And as you fall asleep, he smiles down at you. He’d gotten what he wanted in the end, and you would forgive him in time as you always inevitably did. He is contented at the thought of you; so ensnared within his insurmountable influence that you cannot even think of challenging his will, how in time you might even grow to be a willing accomplice to his wicked deeds. Yes, you would be safe. So long as you were within his hold, he would not let anything come between you. Pennywise cared for that which was loyal, that which belonged to him, and he would not tolerate anything that posed a threat to what was his. Nothing would dare hurt you. No one would dare bring you any harm, and if they did, well…

They would pay the consequences.


End file.
